


don't you, soldier?

by bipp_splapl



Series: to reckon [5]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood, Character Study, Choking, Dead People, Gen, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Incest, Introspection, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teeth, Violence, enoshima junko (mentioned) - Freeform, hek if i know, i really pulled a 180 from the fluff this is fuckin awful, nakajima kanon (mentioned), oh lord oh good god, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23877880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipp_splapl/pseuds/bipp_splapl
Summary: kuwata leon is straight up not having a good time! let's scream about it.
Relationships: Ikusaba Mukuro & Kuwata Leon
Series: to reckon [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715428
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uh there will be a second chapter from mukuro's perspective but that'll be in a few days that was a bit intense i will return to it when im doin better

The sound of rubber soles slapping against linoleum echoed through the hallways of Hope’s Peak. A version of it, anyway. Everything came back, even in death, it seems. Which kind of sucked because Leon really hated it here. He used to hate school for all the normal kid reasons. But now, he hated it for everything else, too. 

As Leon rounded the corner, he skid, leaving marks behind. As quickly as the streaks appeared, they faded, reminding him that none of this was real. At least, not the reality he once knew. It doesn’t matter. Man on a mission. He rounded another corner, sharp and quick, muscle memory kicking in after years of baseball pounded into his body. Whether he liked it or not, he was the Ultimate Baseball Star. Somethings you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard the beating. 

And the beating was hard.

He put his head down and ran, focusing on the sensation of his rubber against that linoleum. Shoe. Floor. Shoe. Floor. Shoe. Floor. Floor. Floor. It was just floor. Why was it just floor?

Kuwata Leon was sprawled out on the floor. 

The phantom pains were a new constant in his life, dull and aching at all times of the day. The intensity cranked up to an eleven upon impact. The baseball player let out a strangled cry, almost more of a gasp for air than a scream, and desperately felt himself grabbing at his throat. 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He was writhing and couldn’t breathe. Everywhere. Everywhere hurt. Everywhere hurt, and he couldn’t breathe. His muscles were twitching, and it took everything Leon had to keep from writhing on the ground. Choking. He was choking. He was choking on his own blood, again, just as before, just as now. His blood and his teeth, his blood and his teeth. Choking. 

Choking. 

Choking. 

Choking. 

_ ‘snap out of it,’  _ something whispered inside of him, a caged animal desperate for escape. ‘ _ get out of your head, you’re fine. you’re fine’ _

Minutes passed before Leon could stop hyperventilating. Everything slowly wound down to a halt, just as...he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say it aloud, or else the world would crumble. Just like that... _ thing _ he knew he was thinking about but couldn’t say. Hands loosened their death grip around his neck and fell limp, sliding down to his sternum. 

Mental wellness check: No real blood. No real teeth. No balls. Okay. 

He’s okay. 

With a sigh, he flopped an arm over his head, shielding his good eye from the fluorescent lighting. God, he was pathetic. Whatever happened to the late, great Kuwata Leon. He was tough once. A little scrappy, but he could hold his own. He had fans. The wrong kind, but it felt nice to be adored. He had chicks. Well, until they were chased away. He had some guys, too, but they never wanted to stick around with him for too long. He had arm candy. He was arm candy. What went wrong?

Oh, that’s right. Enoshima Junko happened.  _ Fuck her.  _

He lazily rolled his head to one side, looking down the hall. It was too bright to make out, but it seemed like...someone was watching him… Which made Leon jolt, a sudden surge of life pushing him off the ground, scrambling to his feet. The bright hallway was a blur, and after about thirty seconds of blinking, his vision adjusted. Adjusted as much as it was going to. His depth perception was like, perma-fucked now. If he squinted, he could make out the dark-haired mop staring back at him. 

Ikusaba Mukuro.  _ Fuck her, too.  _

Leon wanted to take off his shoe and chuck it straight at her head. He probably could, too, if he’d just take the afternoon to mess around with his vision. Instead, he just stalked down the hall, a hand dragging across the wall to ensure he doesn’t stumble around. 

“Hey, dipshit!” The baseball player yelled. “Don’t even think about moving.” 

Mukuro could have, quite easily. She was the Ultimate Soldier, after all. If she didn’t want to listen to the ramblings of a dead man, she could have walked away. Or punch him in the gut and send him back down to the ground. Or simply tune out, she does that a lot. But something kept her there, either frozen in place or voluntarily. 

By the time Leon had made it down the hall, he was standing up straight, doing his best to hide his pain.  _ She doesn’t get the pleasure _ , he thought as he placed himself squarely in front of her, trying to make his two inches of extra height as looming as possible. Styling his hair straight up like that helped when he was looming. And he was gonna loom so hard, goddammit, loom until Ikusaba peed her pants. Can’t handle the amount of loom going on here.  _ Hell yea. _

“This is all your fucking fault,” he said, leaning into the jab. The bite never went away, no matter how hard he tried. “‘nd I got some thoughts and feelings about this whole shitshow that I can’t keep holding in anymore.” Hands shoved into his back pockets, trying to play it cool. Leon was never cool. Something always boiled over. But he could pretend, at least for a bit. “I used to like, go practice my fastballs for a few hours when I was like this. Or hit the  _ batt- _ …  **_battin-_ ** ” 

Leon’s voice stopped with a gasp, the word stuck in his throat. Something heavy was weighing him down, and he hated how felt every muscle in his throat moved as he swallowed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He had to catch a grip. His hand clawed into his thigh, shooting pain dragging him back to reality. 

You two ruined that for me,” blue eyes narrowed with a hiss.  _ Screw you for ruining us.  _ “So why don’t you just stand there and stare off blankly into whatever la la land you fuck off to and just  _ take it, alright?! _ ” 

There was nothing in the sea of grey. No reaction, no computation. Shit, if you told him that Mukuro was a robot, Leon would’ve believed you. Made his skin itch. Everything about her made him itch. 

“Y’know somethin’ Ikusaba?” His mouth curled into a toothy smirk, showing off the gaps in his once prize-winning smile. “I thought you were alright for a while. Maybe even cool, from a distance. We like the same music. Kinda have similar styles. I thought about asking you to smoke with Kirigiri and me. You smoked, right?” Nothing. Damn.

A fist shot out and grabbed the collar of her shirt, pulling her in. Leon could feel the starch under his fingers, the way it crunched under his curled hand. A finger laced around the ribbon tie, hooking in place. “But even if you take away the bun of evil and the patty of despair and the condiments of war crimes or whatever, you’re still left with a piece of incestuous cheese.”

“ _ And I fucking hate you for that. _ ”

And Mukuro kept staring, her steely eyes cold. She was letting him do this. Leon knew she was letting him do this. She could easily wipe the floor with him if she wanted to, leave him screaming, thousand times over, and yet she stood there and let him have his moment. What kind of weakness was that, huh? Can’t even threaten someone without them playing along. She made him see red. 

“How can you fucking do that to someone?” He spat, speckles landing on her face. Her face winced, more from the droplets than the words. “You...you can’t just  love family. N-not like that. And even if you and Enoshima were pure as snow, I can’t stand her feeding into your... _ delusional fantasies _ .”

“Do you know what that does to a person? Like a real person? It isn’t a game. I- I’m not a fucking game.” Hands quivered around her collar, loosening his grip without Leon even noticing. And even with the open escape route, Mukuro still didn’t shy away. “You jack off to sisterly despair all you want, but in the real world that fucks you up permanently.”

The tears streaming down his face went unnoticed until something salty touched his lips. His eye widened, caught in headlights. The act shattered, if only for a moment. He let go of her shirt with a little push, sending her stumbling a few steps backward. Something she didn’t have to do. Mukuro didn’t even have to lean back. 

Why was she letting him do this? Why was she acting weak? 

He was the weak one. For as bad as his execution was, Leon couldn’t connect with the emotional trauma the others were going through. He felt the pain, the excruciating pain. But not the anguish. How can you feel more anguish than what you already push down every day of your life? 

Why do you think he likes punk so much? It makes him feel alive.

“ _...why did you make me look at her? _ ” Leon swore he saw a look of confusion cross her face, the most minuscule downturn of the mouth into a frown. Buckling down, he tried again. “ _ Why did you make me look at Kanon? _ ” 

Something clicked for Mukuro, and as soon as his cousin's name aloud, Leon instantly regretted it. What was she going to do with this information? Fuck, she’s a Despair Sister, was she going to put this against him here, too? Mental anguish for eternity? 

Phantom pain rippled through his body. Phantom hands crawled across his skin. He felt smothered. He felt like choking.  _ ‘she’s not here, leon, just breathe’  _ called the voice again. And she wasn’t here. She wasn’t.

His eyes were watering again, but Leon didn’t even pretend to hide it. He was broken. They all were. If Mukuro really enjoyed her disgusting feelings towards Junko, maybe she was the most broken of them all. He’s dead. What’s the point in shame?

“You know what’s sad?” He smiled, his words twisting like a knife in his stomach. His knife in Sayaka’s stomach.  _ Shit. “ _ That year we were stuck in Hope’s Peak during the tragedy? Best year of my stupid life. How pathetic is that, huh? No baseball. No Kanon. No anything, just...”

Everything inside him wanted to run. Screamed to run, wanted to run in one direction and keep running until he collapsed and died. But he can’t die because he’s already here. But Leon couldn’t even run in a school hallway. How was he supposed to run for eternity? He couldn’t run away forever. 

_ I get why Junko was always using Mukuro as her punching bag. She’s as absorbent as a padded wall. _ Was that from being a soldier or being abused? Remorse crept in from the back of his mind, and a part of him realized you know what, Mukuro probably didn’t deserve this.

But also she thoroughly did. She helped execute the scheme to end the world. No amount of abuse or trauma can excuse her of those sins. That’s what Leon told himself. That’s what he had to keep telling himself. 

They were classmates once, too. They both died by the same lacquered hands. They really weren’t all that different.  _ Yes, they were.  _ Alright. 

Yes, they were. 

“I’m glad I died when I did,” Leon stepped back as he said this, giving her space. She deserved the hatred but not the abuse. He had to calm down. There’s a reason why everyone believed a delinquent baseball player could kill in cold blood, and it's for the anger bubbling over right now. He had to get a grip. “It’s a relief, honestly. No more Kanon or coaches or betrayals from friends who can’t believe a single stupid word I say because they look at me and say, ‘ _ Oh, greasy-ass punk boy. _ ’ I went before I had to see anything too bad.” 

There was a sense of finality to the statement. The sound of acceptance, and the last breath of something dying. Was it hope, or despair? It didn’t really matter in the end. Two sides of the same coin.

“I can’t look at b-” Leon choked on his words again, but this time, took a second to swallow hard and try again. “...... _ baseballs _ anymore. But can you even stand to look at your stupid tattoo?”

Again, a minuscule flicker of pain as she furrowed her brows. Something a person could typically miss, but Leon was standing so close to her, he couldn’t help but notice. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be taking out his pain on her. 

But she saw the schematics for his execution. For every possible execution, for all of their classmates. She didn’t design them, and she didn’t approve of them, either. But every time Mukuro looked him in the eyes at Hope’s Peak, she knew his fate. Kill or be killed. A thousand blows. She could do that to her former friends. Not friends. People who valued her but were treated as nothing more than disposables.

Leon couldn’t forgive her. But that didn’t make the flicker any less real, and it hit him like a punch to the stomach.

“I never had control over my stupid life. I didn’t even have control over my own stupid murder case. I was always some sorta...pawn, for others to move around and tell me what to do, and I had to do it, no matter how much I hated it. You get it, don’t you, soldier?” 

“And just like for all the other pawns in this game, the queen doesn’t care.”

The words were hollow. Everything was hollow. Hollow as his prized aluminum bat, hanging over his bed back home. The one piece of baseball paraphernalia Leon allowed in his life. It was stuck forever in Hope’s Peak, probably growing dust. A copy of it hung above the copy of his room in this copycat world. It wasn’t the same. It was a bat but it wasn’t his. Nothing would be again. 

Without a word, Kuwata Leon turned on his heel, and walked down the hallway, back towards where he came. 


	2. she's learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ikusaba mukuro is not easily affected by poisonous jabs. at least that's what she tells herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a while school happened

Mukuro recognized the storm behind his crystal blue eyes. Eyes were the window to the soul. And Leon kept his blinds wide open, his glass panes clean, and allowed a perfect look into whatever was going on in his thick skull. She could read him like a book, but that didn’t make her special. Anyone could. It wasn’t her intuition. It was his transparency.

Yes, she recognized the feeling immediately but said nothing. Ikusaba Mukuro could not face despair again. 

Things had been quiet recently. An everlasting silence. That is but one of the natures of death. The world was noisy. It had always been noisy. It had become noisier, as of late, and she was partially to blame. 

Tracing back further, before the remnants, the killing games, the blackmailing, the discovery, the murder of Fuyuhiko Katsumi that started this whole ball rolling, Mukuro’s world was still in turmoil. The sound of gunfire. The scent of sulfur. Even now it hung heavy in the air. The memories were the worst at night, and eventually, she stopped trying. Somewhere in her room, now abandoned, was a pile of energy drinks rationed during the apocalypse. Heaven’s mana. It would have to do. 

There was a constant ringing. It’s been there for as long as Mukuro remembers. The only constant in her life. Besides despair, she supposed, but that was more of Junko’s thing. She just did as she was told.

There was nothing for Mukuro to lose but her chains, and they grew to be a comfort, strangling her in an almost-loving embrace. But those comforting binds were unceremoniously ripped away, leaving her free-falling without the illusion of a safety net. The world was quiet. No more gunfire or smoke. No more ringing. No more commands or jabs or insults. 

For the first time in her whole life, the world was quiet. And it felt like Mukuro lost a part of herself. Hope’s Peak was now her purgatory. It is easy to kill; it is difficult to face the killings. Move quickly and efficiently and turn a blind eye. That’s how it’s always been, but not anymore. She was forced to look at her sins in the eyes, no more amicable facade. 

At no point did she have to put up with Kuwata’s bullshit, but Mukuro chose to. Something in his words chipped away at her stony exterior. Eyes drifted down to her hand and winced, and then winced some more, body taken over by phantom pains. Most of the time, everything was fine, but one wrong move, one poor sleeping angle, one too-quick movement, and everything turned into pain, screaming pain. 

Her bandages were too thick for the usual button-down, and she opted for a simple grey sweatshirt. Sometimes, she would pretend it was one of Makoto’s she stole. Late at night, when alone with her thoughts that were always a little too loud, she would pretend it’s her sisters. Those moments are fewer and farther between. She’s learning. 

She’s learning. 

Betrayal. Mukuro had been hurt by her sister, beaten, stabbed, manipulated, called every name in the book. But betrayal is something the Ultimate Soldier did to others, never to her. The world was quiet, which gave her room to reflect, which was never something she was particularly good at nor particularly enjoyed. 

Orders. She liked orders: order and reason. Emotions kill, and emotions get you killed. Maybe that’s why she never understood the obsession with despair. It didn’t connect. Nothing ever does. Makoto did, but she could not think about that right now.  
  
No one told her about a sudden increase in free time when you are no longer plotting. Leisure has never been something Mukuro was particularly comfortable with, not that she had much of it in her past. Laziness made her antsy. In the wake of a sudden influx of never-ending time on her hand, the Ultimate Soldier has taken this time to read. Reading has always been an analog hobby, with a paperback being a convenient way to pass the time on a stakeout. 

There were thousands of books in the world, and thousands of lifetimes to read them now. Yes, reading was the best choice. She’s learning. 

She’s learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright gonna keep on going got exams in the next two weeks so ya know. big fun. things'll pick up soon. hey in the meantime consider follwoing my tiktok @leonkuwata.stan or my tumblr @hnnng-hnnng if you want to hear from me more. i am more active on spam places

**Author's Note:**

> wow! yoinks! yea so this chapter wasn't supposed to come today. i had already drafted it but it was supposed to be a super late series one. but i am a leon kinnie because i, too, was emotionally manipulated and traumatized by a musician who led me and another guy on for their own personal gain, and backstabbed us both. and that stupid heckin musician came back in my life yesterday in a hecked up way, and i had to vent.
> 
> i am literally drained from writing this. see yall later oof
> 
> unrelated - uh. im gonna do a mobster series next, which will prob mean july/august. mobster time. mobster mobster.
> 
> at this point its p clear i write inspired by stream of conscious right? rigth? ok


End file.
